


can't take my eyes off you

by mochimochi



Series: spreading in violet [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Post Timeskip, all of fukurōdani is there because i love them, mentions of alcohol but its very brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27296089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochimochi/pseuds/mochimochi
Summary: "I think I'm starting to realize that I'm going to miss you. Very much. So much so that I don't know what to do with myself."It's a lie, partially, because he isn't just starting to realize it. He's always been painfully, hopelessly aware that his life functions like clockwork, functionally, mathematically, and without Bokuto in it, that near perfect equation is fundamentally and inherently flawed.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: spreading in violet [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040421
Comments: 16
Kudos: 123





	can't take my eyes off you

**Author's Note:**

> title from neon by yukika which i played on loop while writing this

“Oh, it’s you again. The usual?”

Miya Osamu doesn’t wait for a response, turning to unfold a plastic bag to pack the new order. He pointedly avoids Akaashi’s name, confirming his suspicion that he probably doesn’t know it to begin with. He doesn’t bother to clarify for him.

“Any updates on the branch here in Tokyo?”

“Nothin’ yet, still waiting for approval. That’s why 'm here, actually."

Akaashi doesn’t comment further, and instead observes the careful way he tucks the onigiri into the cardboard box, folding it neatly on top and sealing it with the signature _Onigiri Miya _sticker, the same logo stamped on his hat. He shifts to drop it into the plastic bag along with some napkins and hands it to Akaashi, who gives him a quiet thanks.__

Osamu leans over the register to drop the change into his hand and asks, “So how do ya always find the time to come to his games?”

Akaashi pockets the change, shifting the plastic bag from one hand to the other.

“I just schedule around them,” he says, and then by way of explanation adds, “It’s the least I can do before he goes overseas.”

Osamu scowls at him, looking confused. “You actually think he’s goin’ overseas?”

Akaashi mirrors his confusion, asking “Well why wouldn’t he? It’s the logical next step in his career.” Hinata had signed to a team in Brazil, Kageyama to one in Italy. Oikawa Tooru was notorious for doing exceptionally well playing for Argentina. It was only a matter of time before he did the same.

Osamu opens his mouth to speak again but is drowned out by the sudden roar of the crowd. The game must have started. Akaashi motions with his head toward the entrance to the arena, his hands occupied by the bag.

“I should get going. Thank you again for the food.” He walks away after Osamu nods at him, but can feel the way his eyes stay fixated on his back as he retreats.

He spots Konoha and Komi on the second row, the latter catching his eye and motioning hurriedly for him to approach. He drops on the seat next to Konoha who claps him on the shoulder.

“Geez man, where were you? You almost missed Bokuto’s first serve.” Akaashi peers over at the court to find that he’s exaggerating. Bokuto is next up to serve in the rotation, and he would’ve made it in time even if he’d chatted with Miya Osamu a bit longer. The other Miya brother just served, judging by the opponents’ valiant struggle to get the ball in play. Konoha gestures toward the bag at his feet. “Did you at least get some for us?”

Akaashi sets the cardboard box on his lap, lifting up the seal with a careful finger. “I only bought two, you can have some of mine if you’d like.”

Komi leans over Konoha’s lap, slapping his hand away as he reaches for a napkin. “Don’t be stupid, you bought it for yourself. The two of us will just share one, right Konoha?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Akaashi passes them the box just as Bokuto’s figure below skips to the back of the court for his serve.

“Here it comes,” Konoha says through a mouthful of rice, and sure enough, it begins. The crowd all around them seems to rumble to life, a mix of cheers, drums and claps, culminating with a chant of Bokuto’s name. Akaashi, though far away, can see the way he’s barely suppressing a smile, his whole body radiating with excitement as he rears back to jump into the serve.

It rockets to the other side of the net, narrowly received by the opponents’ libero. He watches as Bokuto’s expression barely falters and he quickly moves into play. Miya Atsumu sends the ball his way in a beautiful arch and Bokuto jumps to meet it.

He seems to freeze in midair, the net, blockers, and cheers blurring around him, and Akaashi is suddenly very aware of the mouthful of rice sliding down his throat as he swallows. It never fails to take his breath away. He hears the resounding smack of the ball when it makes contact with the floor on the other side of the net, the sound traveling quicker to his brain than the action, and he’s pulled back down to earth by the roar of the crowd, Konoha and Komi joining in beside him. A perfect spike.

“Wow. He’s in top shape, as usual.” Komi says. “Back in high school that receive from the enemy team just now might’ve ruffled his feathers.”

“He’s grown a lot since then.” Akaashi remarks. The crowd cheers around them as the Jackals score another point, this time by the stoic Sakusa Kiyoomi. “It takes a lot more to get him into one of his moods.”

Konoha, still eating, hums in agreement. Komi chuckles next to him and says, “Well, if anyone would know it’s you, Akaashi-kun.”

Akaashi’s eyes glide over to Miya Atsumu again as he steps sideways to set. His form is impeccable, and the effect of it shows on Bokuto’s face as he springs up into the spike, bellowing a loud cheer after he scores. The audience eats it up. He has enough charisma to make up for all the odd characters on his team, and then some. His smile grows impossibly wider as Meian slaps him on the back in congratulations. Akaashi recalls the captain of the Jackals describing Bokuto’s energy as “contagious” in a TV interview.

It’s a tight game but the Jackals secure a victory in two sets, and the spirit in the arena is so vibrant Akaashi thinks if they cheer any louder the glass panels on the windows will burst. He feels the energy thrumming through his own body and he shivers, turning to see if Konoha and Komi noticed, a little ashamed. The pair is too preoccupied jumping to their feet and running over to the railing, howling loud enough for their old classmate to hear. In high school he might’ve felt embarrassed to be seen with them, but now he just stands and joins them by the railing as they flail their arms animatedly in Bokuto’s direction, hoping to get his attention.

Inunaki notices them first, and taps Bokuto on the shoulder, pointing in their direction. Bokuto puffs up like a bird, somehow still full of energy, jumping as he waves with both arms. He notices Akaashi standing a foot away from the screaming pair and stops jumping, pointing directly at him with one arm and waving with the other. Akaashi sees Bokuto’s mouth move in the shape of his name, the sound drowned out by the bustle of the arena, but loud enough for his teammates to turn in alarm at the sound. Some of them laugh, Miya Atsumu rolls his eyes. Akaashi pretends not to see it, shrinking into himself a bit as he waves back.

“Wow, talk about having favorites.” Konoha teases, finally able to speak at a normal volume as the fans begin to filter out from the stands. “Well, let’s go down and see the star of the show!”

“You two go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.” Akaashi notices the way they exchange a look before Komi nudges Konoha, moving him to the exit.

“Alright, but don’t take too long. You’re still coming to get drinks with us and the rest of the guys, right?”

“Yes. I’ll just be a minute.”

He turns back to face the court, eyes flitting over the huddle of black uniforms conversing on one side. Gripping the railing with one hand, he pretends not to hear Konoha lean down to Komi’s side and whisper “Well, time might have passed but those two are still weirdos,” as they walk away.

__________________

The restaurant they agreed to meet in is within walking distance of the arena. It’s chilly out, and Akaashi glances at Bokuto’s bare legs, burrowing into his own coat. The idiot hadn’t bothered to change out of his uniform. He’s wearing the matching jacket, at least, his name in bold letters stretching tight over broad shoulders. He’s talking to Konoha who walks next to him, loud enough for strangers to glance their way as they walk by. The sidewalk isn’t wide enough for the four of them so Akaashi and Komi lag behind quietly, far enough to almost dissociate from the other two, until the latter breaks the silence.

“Do you remember that match our last year of high school?” He pauses to gesture between himself and the pair in front of them, “Well, our last year of high school, not yours. Against Kiryu Wakatsu?”

Akaashi looks down at his feet, the way they seem to move almost on their own accord. The memory is clear as a picture in his mind, Bokuto’s final Nationals run was something he would probably never forget. That game in particular was a bittersweet memory.

“Yes, I remember. Against Mujinazaka High.”

“Yeah, that one. Bokuto turned to us halfway through and promised he would become a ’normal ace’ or something like that,” He laughs. “And lo and behold, he went and did just that. Can you believe it?”

Akaashi looks up at Bokuto again, at his left arm slung over Konoha’s shoulders. He’s motioning wildly with the other arm, recounting a particularly exciting play from the match, by the looks of it.

“I mean, I never doubted that he would do it, don’t get me wrong,” Komi continues, probably accustomed to filling in for his silence at this point. “It’s just kind of crazy to think about. Sometimes I get on the train after work and there’s a giant ad with his face on it for the national olympic team. It almost makes me feel kinda special, just by association, y’know?”

“Yes.” Akaashi says, thinking. He recalls the various times he’s popped into a convenience store after pulling an all-nighter to meet a deadline. Suddenly he’ll find himself blinking blearily at Bokuto’s smile, plastered on the newest cover of _Volleyball Monthly_ stacked by the check-out line.

Komi’s voice changes in tone as the pair in front of them comes to a stop. “Oh, look! It’s Saru and Washio!”

Bokuto lunges himself between the two of them, throwing one arm over Sarukui and the other over Washio. They hug him back, thoroughly amused and congratulating him on the victory. Akaashi waves at them behind Komi when they look up at him.

They head inside the restaurant, squishing into a small table originally meant for four. He ends up sitting on one end, Bokuto on the other, the other four crammed in shared seats. Konoha orders a round of drinks for the table, and Akaashi and Washio holds their bottles out tentatively as the rest of them toast loud enough to turn heads.

Maybe it’s the beer or the rapidly descending sun but Komi’s comment from earlier has Akaashi wading in and out of a trance, his mind wandering to his friends’ last Nationals tournament. He remembers Bokuto standing on the balcony outside their room at the inn, earnestly proclaiming they were going to win every match. He remembers the crowd even back then loving his energy, all his dramatics. Most of all, though, he remembers watching him from the bench, the way he became suspended in midair before his eyes just like today, the star player, the anything-but-normal ace.

That match when Akaashi was benched, maybe just for a couple of minutes, he felt so out of control of the situation it made his blood run cold. Bokuto, somehow, like the genius he is, managed to latch onto his train of thought before it could run him over. His blind faith in Akaashi that day had filled his stomach with emotion, not altogether nerves or uneasiness, something else.

Konoha says, “What’re you spacing out for, Akaashi?” waving a hand in front of his eyes. Akaashi blinks, feeling a little disoriented at the interruption. Konoha and Washio are staring at him. The other three are enraptured in conversation, none the wiser to his daydreaming.

“Sorry. I remembered something from high school.” He looks down at the bottle still in his hand, wet where it comes in contact with his skin from the condensation. Konoha hums.

“It’s hard not to, hanging out with him.” He juts his thumb out towards Bokuto. “He’s like our own personal celebrity. Sometimes I forget it’s kind of wild to be sitting at a table like this with him like it’s nothing.”

Washio sets his beer on the tabletop. “As long no one comes up to me after a game asking for his autograph I’m willing to cash out on all the benefits of being friends with him.”

Konoha laughs. “I think we deserve it after putting up with him all those years.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s a wide smile on his face. “Especially you, Akaashi. Staying late after every practice, setting for him whenever he liked, all that.”

Akaashi looks up at Bokuto, the way his cheeks crinkle near his eyes when he laughs at something Sarukui says. He scans the table around him, the six of them cramped into the space, Konoha and Komi on one side and Sarukui and Washio on the other, practically pressed together from shoulder to thigh to fit into their seats. Fukurodani Academy’s starting lineup.

“I think pretty soon Bokuto-san will become especially clingy.”

“Why’s that?”

“Before he goes away.”

Konoha swallows a swig of his beer, raising an eyebrow at him. Washio blinks.

“Goes away? Where?”

“Abroad. To a foreign team.”

Konoha looks scandalized. “Huh? Why would he do that?”

“Well it’s the next step in his professional career.”

Washio glances in Bokuto’s direction, then back towards him. “Well, not exactly. He has to train with the national team for the Olympics.” Akaashi gets a flashback to his conversation with Miya Osamu at his onigiri stand.

“So do Kageyama and Hinata. They’ve both moved to teams abroad.”

Konoha balks. “Well in that case look at Miya Atsumu and Sakusa. They stayed. So did Washio. So did a lot of other players in the V-League with potential for international teams.” He, too, turns to look at Bokuto and for a minute the three of them watch him silently as he repeatedly smacks a hazy-looking Sarukui on the back, laughing. Konoha turns back to Akaashi, still frazzled.

“Besides, I haven’t heard him mention anything about any foreign teams. Why would he want to leave?”

“Well, he doesn’t have much here in Japan that he couldn’t get overseas.” He explains. Konoha and Washio both look at him incredulously, the latter gaping a bit with his bottle lifted halfway to his mouth. They exchange a look between them before Konoha opens his mouth to speak again, voice indignant.

“Akaashi-kun, you can’t be se-”

“Hey! Konoha!” Bokuto’s voice travels across the small space like a foghorn, interrupting him. He shakes his empty bottle with one hand. “Order another round for us, would ya?”

“Hey! You better not be expecting me to pay for all this, you freeloader. If anyone can afford to buy a round for the table it’s you!” The conversation is broken between the two of them shouting over each other.

__________________

Two rounds later Washio stands to leave with the excuse of practice early the next morning with his team. The rest of the group berates him but soon enough Sarukui and Komi are excusing themselves too, leaving with one last ruffle to Bokuto’s spiked hair despite his ardent complaints. Konoha and Bokuto split the bill, thoroughly ignoring Akaashi’s offer to help. They leave the restaurant together and Konoha, who lives in the opposite direction, bids them goodbye, throwing one long, loaded look Akaashi’s way before he disappears.

It’s much colder now that the sun has gone down, and Akaashi suppresses a full body shiver, shifting to pull out the scarf folded in his bag.

“Aren’t you cold, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto’s hands are tucked into the pockets of his training jacket, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His kneepads and shoes are inside the bag slung over his shoulder, but otherwise he’s dressed exactly as he was midday inside the arena. Akaashi winces inwardly at the sight of his bare legs. Bokuto looks around, as if visually assessing the temperature.

“Not really,” he says. “It is kinda cold though, isn’t it? You bundled up okay?”

Akaashi finishes wrapping the scarf around himself, pulling it up so it covers his chin and nose. “I’m fine. You should be the one worried. What if you get sick?”

Bokuto says, “I never get sick,” but moves to zip up his jacket and roll down the sleeves, anyway. He looks up, meeting Akaashi’s eyes properly for the first time in the night, and if his breath hitches a little, concealed behind the scarf, he blames it on the cold. Bokuto must confuse the sound for a yawn, his bright gaze softening into a smile.

“Tired already?” He asks, moving to stand behind him. “I can walk you to your bus stop.”

Bokuto’s apartment is only a couple of blocks away, purposefully within close quarters of the arena. Akaashi’s is a ten minute bus ride away, the bus stop somewhere in the direction of Bokuto’s apartment, close enough for it to be considered acceptable to accompany him. They fall into stride next to each other, casting a twin pair of thin shadows under the streetlights.

The brisk weather and the slosh of Bokuto’s sneakers on the sidewalk remind him of the walk from the Tokyo Arena to their inn after Nationals. Bokuto radiates the same infinite, incredible energy that rolls off him in waves, without even having to speak, washing up over Akaashi like a riptide. He thinks about the time he walked off somewhere still inside the arena after the Mujinazaka match, hiding so his teammates wouldn’t see his tears, but Bokuto found him anyway. They all did, but it was him that sat next to him on the bench and talked and talked and talked until Akaashi laughed. He thinks about the last remnants of that insurmountable energy right before they all went to bed that night, the way Komi lunged a pillow at Bokuto to get him to shut up so they could sleep. He kept rolling around in the dark for another five minutes afterward until he finally fell asleep, Akaashi following suit after the silhouette of Bokuto’s figure had stilled in the shadows.

“You were kinda quiet back there, 'Kashi,” Bokuto says, snapping him out of his reverie once again. He looks sideways only to find Bokuto already watching him. “What’re you thinking about?”

“I keep getting flashbacks to high school,” he says. No point in lying. Bokuto chuckles next to him.

“I guess it’s hard not to, hanging out with those guys,” He matches Konoha’s line down to almost every word. Their steps sync up as they walk together, Bokuto’s long, bouncy steps slowing down to match his. “Although, we’ve been meeting up since the season started.”

Akaashi agrees. “There was something different about tonight, I suppose.”

“Did my playing today remind you of my playing in high school?” Bokuto asks. “I kinda hope not, actually. I mean, I was pretty good, but I think I’ve gotten better since then. Right?”

“You have.” And it’s true. “It wasn’t that. And you should also start getting better at other things. Like keeping yourself warm during the winter.”

Bokuto whines. “I told you I’m not cold! I’m pretty good at taking care of myself, you know. Most of the time.”

“Your tax returns from a few months ago say otherwise.”

“Well, I still have a couple of things to learn.” He huffs. “That’s what I have you and Kuroo for.”

Akaashi’s stomach tightens a bit, and he’s suddenly very glad he only had two beers even when the rest of the group insisted he drank more. He doesn’t lift his gaze up from the rhythm of their feet.

“Well Kuroo-san and I won’t be around when you’re in Russia or somewhere in South America. And I doubt Yaku-san or Oikawa-san would be anywhere as patient if you asked for their help.”

“Russia? What are you talking abou-”

“Oh.” Akaashi says, looking up. The bus stop is just a couple of feet away from them and his bus is promptly driving off, leaving him behind. A voice in the back of his mind remarks bitterly at the irony. It’s at least a ten minute wait for the next one and despite his coat and scarf he can feel the cold seeping deep into his bones all the way down to the marrow. They’ve stopped walking, both of them watching the bus get smaller and smaller as it recedes into the distance.

“Oh, damn, was that yours?”

“Yes, it was.”

Akaashi heaves a small sigh before taking a step forward. Hopefully the metal bench under the awning of the bus stop isn’t unbearably cold. He can’t sit on his bag, his laptop is in there. Maybe he can use the ten minutes to do some more proofreading, he might be too tired to do it before he gets home, and doing it on the bus will make him queasy. Before he’s made a decision Bokuto yanks him back, latching onto the strap of his bag.

“Hold on, you can’t just wait for the next one, you’ll freeze to death!”

“I thought you said it wasn’t cold, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto makes a weird, throaty noises of complaint. “I didn’t say that, I said _I_ wasn’t cold. You’re obviously freezing.”

 _Great observation_ , Akaashi laughs to himself, equal parts amused and endeared. He’s wound tight from head to toe from how hard he’s clenching to repress both his shivers and his feelings. Instead, he says, “Well, there’s nothing else I can do.”

“You can always stay at mine.” Bokuto says, easy as anything. Akaashi tilts his head back to fully meet his eyes over the scarf, and the easy-going look he finds there brings back the tightness in his stomach.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re never intruding on me, you know that!” Too easy.

“Don’t you usually have practice on Saturday mornings?”

Bokuto’s smile only grows wider. “Not this time! Never the day after a big match. I don't go back to Osaka until next week.”

Akaashi racks his brain for excuses, almost hating the way Bokuto seems to notice, because he says, teasingly, “Come on, 'Kashi. It wouldn’t be the first time you stay over,”

And that’s the problem isn’t it? It wouldn’t be the first time, but it might be the last, and that makes him stagger like he’s being backed into a corner. It’s almost fear, but not quite. He thinks again about sitting on the bench during the Mujinazaka match, the same uncertain feeling in the pit of his stomach. Bokuto starts tugging on his sleeve impatiently.

“Fine.” He concedes. As if he could ever say no to him. “But only because it’s freezing.”

Bokuto does that thing again where he puffs up like a bird, like he did earlier at the arena when he spotted them in the crowd. Akaashi tries not to think about how sickeningly adorable it is, and he tries even harder not to think about the way Bokuto keeps holding onto his sleeve, practically towing him in the direction of his apartment building.

__________________

Akaashi can’t contain the satisfied little sigh that leaves him when they step into the warmth of the elevator. Bokuto notices, smiling sideways at him as he leans in to press the button for his floor.

“I have some of that green tea powder you like, too. I can heat up a cup for you, if you want.”

Akaashi unwraps his scarf to reveal what he hopes is a grateful smile, amidst all the thoughts and feelings swirling together in his head. “That would be very nice, thank you.”

Just being inside the building is already a massive improvement, even when they stand out in the hall as Bokuto fumbles through his sports bag for his keys. The coziness inside Bokuto’s apartment feels too much like home, and Akaashi turns away to toe his shoes off and hang his coat and bag by the door.

He’s nudged in the direction of the living room, a strong hand on the small of his back. Akaashi sits on the couch, tucking his socked feet under his legs to keep them warm, looking around for something, anything to distract him. There’s a copy of _Volleyball Monthly_ on the coffee table, open to a random page. Upon closer inspection it’s not a random page, and Akaashi squints at the crisp, bright red of Hinata’s new uniform on the satiny paper. The article around the picture reports the announcement of his transfer to Asas Sao Paulo. He thinks that Bokuto was most likely reading the article for fun, a source of pride to see his disciple moving to bigger and greater endeavors but maybe, just maybe, he could be doing research for his own transfer. _Brazil_. At least he wouldn’t be alone, a plane ride away from Hinata and Oikawa-San. It should ease the tightness in Akaashi’s stomach, but it doesn’t.

Bokuto emerges from the kitchen as he’s putting the magazine back in place. He hands him the steaming cup of tea and Akaashi is about to thank him when he interrupts, “Don’t drink it yet! I want to show you something. Hold on,” and disappears down the hall toward the bedroom.

Akaashi curls his fingers around the mug, letting the warmth bleed onto his hands until they’re numb. He holds the mug up to his nose, the steam fogging up his glasses. Bokuto’s blurred figure returns from the bedroom.

The couch next to Akaashi dips under the new weight as he wipes his glasses on his sleeve. When he looks up there’s a dark blue bundle in Bokuto’s hands, another in his lap, wrapped in white tissue paper. Before Akaashi can ask, he’s already explaining.

“You wouldn’t want to spill anything on _this_!” He unfolds the bundle in his hands it for Akaashi to see. It’s a sweatshirt, bold white and gold lettering on the front spelling out FAVC. _Fukurodani Academy Volleyball Club_.

“Isn’t it cool?” Bokuto exclaims, lowering his arms to meet his eyes. He flips it over, the same bold white lettering spelling out his name, _Bokuto_ , across the back. As if he didn’t have enough T-shirts, sweatshirts, and jackets just the same.

“Yukippe sent it to me! Apparently she visited the school recently and this is what the kids are getting now to wear during the colder months after practice. I’m kinda jealous. Or, not anymore, since I have my own!”

His excitement is contagious, and Akaashi smiles as he runs his fingers over the soft material. “It’s very nice, Bokuto-san.”

“I’m so glad you like it _becaaaause_ ,” He sing-songs the last word as he tosses the sweatshirt over his shoulder, holding out the wrapped bundle on his lap. “There’s one for you too!”

Akaashi freezes for a second before setting the mug down on the coffee table so he can unwrap the parcel with both hands. Shirofuku’s hand is visible in the neat, practically wrinkle-free wrapping of the package. It reminds him of Miya Osamu wrapping the onigiri at the arena earlier. He unfolds the sweatshirt, holding it out to read the white lettering. It’s identical to the other one until he flips it over. _Akaashi_ is spelled out in bold white, for the first time in a couple of years, but it feels like much longer.

“I asked her if she could get our numbers on them too, but apparently they don’t have that option. Still looks cool though.” Akaashi drops the sweatshirt to look up at Bokuto, who apparently has put his own sweatshirt on as Akaashi was focused on unwrapping the package. He stretches out his arms to show it off. “See? It’s comfy. Put it on, it’ll warm you up.”

He yields once again, scooting on the couch so he can pull his cardigan over his head. The fabric on the inside of the sweatshirt is plush to the touch, and it fits him perfectly. Bokuto beams at him.

“We’re matching again! It really does feel like high school, like you said.” He reaches down to grab the mug, handing it back to Akaashi. Their fingers brush and Akaashi thinks of all the times that happened when they passed each other a water bottle during time-outs. He looks down into the murky green of his tea.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san.”

“You like it?”

“I do, very much. I’ll make sure to text Shirofuku-san and thank her.”

Bokuto’s smile doesn’t falter as he leans back into the cushions, his feet tangling with Akaashi’s, natural as ever.

“Do you miss high school, Akaashi?”

He peers above the rim of the mug to see Bokuto watching him lazily, arms behind his head, one of the throw pillows from the couch thrown casually over his lap. The steam of the mug fogs up his glasses again but he leaves them.

Bokuto adds, “Is that why you were thinking about it earlier?”

Akaashi settles back into the arm of the couch, still a little cold, thinking. “I don’t miss it, not really. But I appreciate the memories I have from my time in high school.”

“Then why do you look so upset?” Big eyes look up at him, and even through the haze he feels completely and utterly caught. If Bokuto noticed he was upset he obviously notices the way he’s tense, and he sits up, shifting closer next to him. “I know something’s been bothering you ever since the game ended.”

Akaashi inhales through his nose, desperate to keep his tone steady as he speaks. “There’s nothing wrong.” He pauses. “I’m simply living in one of those memories right now, and I guess I keep getting lost in thought. That’s all.” He hopes his tone comes off as dismissive, as if he doesn’t already know that a firm voice never stopped Bokuto.

“Huh? How is the present a memory if it’s…the present?”

Akaashi doesn’t answer. He feels the weight of the couch dip further before he feels a touch, gentle yet calloused, lifting the mug out of his hands, and he hears it graze the wood of the coffee table. He feels that same touch come up to, just with a light brush, tilt his chin upward, his eyes meeting Bokuto’s in a way that makes his whole body wind up impossibly tighter.

“Just tell me. But no talking in riddles because it makes my brain hurt trying to understand. And I do want to understand.”

What must be merely ten seconds passes as neither of them break eye contact, but it feels like minutes. Bokuto waits, kindly, patiently, as Akaashi swallows around the thoughts, trying desperately to construct them into words. It makes his heart twinge, not for having to voice his emotions, but from knowing that although he pushes and presses him with questions Bokuto always, _always_ waits.

“I think I’m starting to realize that I’m going to miss you. Very much. So much so that I don’t know what to do with myself.”

It’s a lie, partially, because he isn’t just starting to realize it. He’s always been painfully, hopelessly aware that his life functions like clockwork, functionally, mathematically, and without Bokuto in it, that near perfect equation is fundamentally and inherently flawed. He knows he’s probably being melodramatic, and his throat is dry when he swallows, but this is his chance, maybe even the last, to be perfectly transparent and vulnerable. It scares him, but for Bokuto he’s willing to do it. For the same Bokuto that is now blinking at him through a furrowed brow, bewilderment written plainly on his face.

“Miss me?” He asks, and pauses, eyes scrutinizing Akaashi’s face. “Akaashi, did you get frostbite or something? Did it get to your head? Because you’re not making any sense.”

“That’s not how that works, Bokuto-san,” Any other time he would’ve laughed, but at the moment he feels sick enough to render him speechless, so he points at the magazine open on the coffee table instead. Bokuto shifts back to pick it up, looking even more confused than before, somehow.

“Mhmm? Hinata?” Akaashi nods. “What about Hinata?”

Akaashi grabs the magazine from his hand, flipping it over to read out loud, “ _Despite an impressive season with the MSBY Black Jackals, the multifaceted young wing spiker bids the team goodbye, heading to Asas Sao Paolo, a local team in Brazil where he will continue to play under the number 21_.”

“Yeah, crazy isn’t it? Although it makes sense, he does have the connections over there from when he played beach for a little while.”

“Don’t you see what I mean, Bokuto-san? Kageyama transferred to an Italian team.”

Bokuto hums. “I saw that! It was in the last issue I bought.”

“Do you understand then?” He looks straight into Bokuto’s eyes despite the way it makes his chest ache. “The most talented players get transferred to teams with the best ranking volleyball leagues.” He thinks about sitting next to Bokuto on this same couch, helping him buy a one way airplane ticket to Brazil or Russia.

“Akaashi, are you worried I’m going to transfer overseas?”

Akaashi feels the lush felt of the throw pillow under his hand as he tightens a fist around it. He doesn’t respond, but the silence is as clear of an answer as he can give. Bokuto doesn’t hesitate before responding, “Why would I do that?”

Akaashi gapes at him in disbelief. Bokuto breaks eye contact, looking off to the side as he rubs the back of his neck. “Did I do that badly today that you think they would want to transfer me out?”

“What? No.” Akaashi’s brain is running laps to keep up with the way the conversation is unfolding. The calculated equation is dissolving, giving way to nothing, and he’s left stuttering to explain himself. “I was just thinking that the upcoming logical step in your career is to play overseas. If not now then in six months, or a year.”

Bokuto makes a quizzical noise, it almost sounds like a laugh. “I can’t predict what happens six months or a year from now, but I hadn’t even thought about transferring anywhere.”

Akaashi is still trying to process that statement, stated so simply and out in the open it feels like a boldfaced lie, but he knows Bokuto would never. He belatedly realizes that one of his hands, the one not clasped onto the throw pillow like a lifeline, is cradled between both of Bokuto’s. He looks up to see a smile that reads equal parts amused and fond, and it feels like a mirror.

“You know, sometimes you get so carried away inside your own head. You never even asked me anything about it.”

He blinks in surprise when one of Bokuto’s hands comes up, carefully pulling his glasses away from his face. Akaashi watches in awe as he wipes them with the inside of his sleeve before leaning in to place them back over his nose, so carefully the action leaves him stunned. Before he can draw in a shaky inhale, Bokuto’s finger taps him on the forehead. He speaks once more, and it’s hardly above a whisper.

“Hey, you,” Akaashi feels Bokuto's breath puff over his skin when he laughs, soft and airy. “I’m not going anywhere. Not when I have everything I need right here.”

A wave of emotion washes over Akaashi and he tries to connect that feeling to something he’s felt before. He thinks of the first time he watched, awestruck, as Bokuto leapt into a spike, or the time after graduation when Bokuto jokingly promised him he would never let Akaashi forget him, as if it that was ever possible. He comes up blank, the relief currently flowing over him is so intoxicating that when he speaks he barely recognizes his own voice.

“You…what?”

“I think about my future a lot, too, believe it or not. And I decided a long time ago that wherever that takes me I want to be happy. And I’m already happy.” Even in the dim light of the living room Akaashi can make out the faint color that dusts over Bokuto’s nose, matching the pink that flushes high on his ears. “To be honest, hearing you say that you’d miss me if I left makes me so happy that, well...”

He lifts Akaashi’s hand, the one he’s still holding, up to his chest and presses the palm down flat. Akaashi feels the thundering beat of Bokuto's heart, a rapid hammering that matches the one inside his chest almost exactly. He feels so overwhelmed that he can barely think and can only ingest the lingering taste of green tea on his tongue, the blue of Bokuto’s sweatshirt, the weight of his hand over Akaashi’s, the warmth of his gaze, and the staggering gravity that he emanates, pulling and pulling and pulling until Akaashi has nothing else to give.

When a minute passes and his thoughts are connecting once again, he speaks, words that have plagued his mind for years and that he always thought would be impossible to piece together, much less utter out loud.

“I want my future to be with you, Bokuto-san.”

He feels the pulse under his palm pick up even more, and he examines the way Bokuto’s lips lift into a grin so radiant that Akaashi is overflowing with the desire to make him smile like that not for six months or a year, but for as long as he lives.

“Stay, then.” Bokuto says. “Not just tonight but tomorrow, too. Six months and a year, more even.”

“Okay.” Akaashi says.

And it’s natural, the way Bokuto wraps strong arms around his waist and lifts, both of them tumbling backwards onto the couch. The laugh that he breathes into Bokuto’s hair leaves his body just like another part of the equation, taking with it every ounce of weight that had settled over his head and leaving him boneless, clutching at Bokuto’s sweatshirt. For once in his life Akaashi slumps over the other’s chest, counting every breath that leaves his body and letting his thoughts fade away, just for a little while.

__________________

The next morning when Akaashi wakes up he’s almost surprised to realize the world as he knows it is still intact. Everything is exactly as he left it, yet completely upside down. He’s still struggling to articulate his thoughts when an arm tightens around his waist, pulling him closer. He hears the hoarse, sleepy sound Bokuto makes by his ear and his heart hurdles up into his throat. The feeling of lips pressing soft and timid against his shoulder is something he can’t process just yet, so he shifts his focus.

It’s raining, hard. The rain splatters against the window, the noise blurring together with their breathing. He doesn’t know what time it is, he only knows that he feels warm under the covers, hyperaware of the stray leg swung over his lower half.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Bokuto whispers. “The sound of your brain turning on is gonna wake up the whole building.”

Akaashi turns his head to see Bokuto already looking at him, heavy-lidded and smiling. “Morning, 'Kashi.”

Akaashi shifts his body, Bokuto’s infinite gravity drawing him in helplessly. Before he can second-guess himself he burrows his nose into Bokuto’s shoulder, breathing in. He feels Bokuto’s fingers tapping a rhythm against his spine where his shirt rises up.

“Sleep good?”

Akaashi smothers a groan. “Stop talking, Bokuto-san.”

“But if I do then you’ll start freaking out, right?” Akaashi stays quiet, making Bokuto laugh. “You forget I’m pretty good at reading you sometimes.”

Akaashi truly tries not to think about it. They stay like that, wrapped up in each other’s arms listening to the rain until Bokuto becomes restless, fidgeting with the hem of Akaashi’s sweatshirt. Akaashi shivers.

“You’re letting in the cold air.”

“Sorry.” Bokuto says, but settles down only for a minute before wriggling again. Akaashi knows his internal clock is spiraling out of control, so accustomed to rising before sunrise for practices and warm-up runs. He pulls away from the warmth of Bokuto’s embrace and squints as they make eye contact.

“If you start getting breakfast ready while I wash my face I’ll join you in a bit,” he says, his eyes darting between Bokuto’s gaze and his lips, lips that pull up into a grin that makes him look so ridiculously attractive it makes Akaashi’s brain hiccup a bit trying to sort out the whole situation. It’s definitely not the first time he’s woken up next to Bokuto, or the first time he’s seen him with his hair down, hanging over his forehead. It’s not even the first time he’s laughed under his breath watching him skip out of the bedroom, somehow bounding with energy already. It’s the first time, however, that Akaashi goes through the routine with a promise of tomorrow, of forever, possibly. If he buries his face in the hand towel from Bokuto’s bathroom for a couple of seconds longer than usual it’s only because he can’t quite wrap his head around it, heart beating out of his chest.

When he crosses the threshold of the kitchen he finds Bokuto fiddling with different boxes in his cabinet, turning when he spots Akaashi in his peripheral.

“We ran out of green tea,” He explains, his voice still laced with the distinct gruffness of sleep that gives Akaashi goosebumps. “We can get some more later but for now I have jasmine, ’s that okay?”

He’s trying not to get stuck on the pervasiveness of the 'we', _WE ran out of green tea_ , so it takes him a second to nod. Bokuto must mistake it for drowsiness because he turns back to the stove, checking the temperature of the water he set to boil and saying, “Don’t fall asleep, it’ll be ready soon.”

Akaashi pads forward, his feet cold against the tile, and sinks against the expanse of Bokuto’s back, face between his shoulder blades. There’s not much mush to bury into, the whole thing a wall of corded muscle, but he’s still wearing the sweatshirt from last night and it feels warm against Akaashi’s cheek. He feels the vibration of Bokuto saying, “You’re so clingy,” and the mellow laugh that follows it.

He watches over Bokuto’s shoulder as he cooks, intervening when he deems it necessary but letting him take charge otherwise. It feels like he’s ignoring at least ten open tabs inside his brain but he chooses to hang on to the sleepy haze just a bit longer. By the time they sit down to eat the rain has subsided, and the apartment seems to settle into a mild tranquility. They’re on the couch again, the only sound the low murmur of the street outside.

“We should go shopping when it clears up,” Bokuto says after his plate is clean. “My shampoo has toner in it so I don’t know if you can use it. Is that bad for you hair?”

“I don’t think it is.” Akaashi says, stacking their plates on the coffee table. “But I have shampoo in my apartment, Bokuto-san. I don’t need to buy any.”

“You’re right, you can just bring some from your place. Along with your other stuff.” When Akaashi only stares at him Bokuto seems to shrink a little, shrugging apologetically. “Or not." A nervous laugh. "Too soon?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ah, sorry!” He looks genuinely sheepish, ears coloring pink. “I guess I’m moving really quickly. I’m already thinking about you moving in.”

Caught off guard, Akaashi swallows a cough. Bokuto presses a palm against his forehead. “Don’t tell me you caught a cold, I knew I should’ve gotten extra covers last night!”

“I’m fine, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi assures him, grabbing his hand to lower it from his face. He swallows before saying, “And I guess we could pass by my apartment later and get some things. Start bringing them in gradually.” His sentence tapers off toward the end but Bokuto catches on, immediately brightening.

“You want to move in? Really?”

Akaashi thinks about his landlord, about the load of paperwork and calls to make. He thinks about boxes upon boxes and lower back pain from lifting them up. He doesn’t have a lot of things, but it would take a couple of drives back and forth to retrieve them all.

Despite everything, he heaves a sigh and says, “Yes.”

And maybe the lower back pain will be bearable simply for the look in Bokuto’s eyes, the unmistakable softness around them. Akaashi almost envies the way he wears his emotions so openly, affection laced in the gentle way he leans in, closer, closer until maintaining eye contact makes Akaashi go cross-eyed.

His exhale puffs against Akaashi’s lips. “Is this okay?”

The ten open tabs in Akaashi’s brain threaten to override one another, a jumble of pop-up windows and noise. He concentrates, instead, on the erratic beating of his heart and responds with a nod, the brush of Bokuto’s lips against his effectively shutting down the whole system.

He begins to reboot somewhere along when Bokuto’s tongue sweeps across his lower lip, his whole body exploding in goosebumps. He can practically see the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he lets out an involuntary noise before he pulls away, overwhelmed. Bokuto’s expression is hesitant, careful.

“Sorry, got a little excited,” he apologizes.

Akaashi inspects the way his hair is ruffled and how the look in his eyes is dizzy. It makes him feel something deep in his chest and before he can contain it he’s laughing, giggling almost, completely spontaneous. Any other time he would be a bit embarrassed by it, but the elation thrumming under his skin is making him act some type of way, clearly. Worst of all, he doesn’t mind, not with the way Bokuto looks at him.

“Akaashi,” he says, breathless. There’s a tension between them as they look at each other, noses only inches away, the smile never leaving Akaashi’s lips.

He fits his hand against the back of Bokuto’s head and says, “Do that again, please.”

And he does. Once, twice, many times more, and Akaashi keeps count only because it’s the only way he can rationalize the situation, make it feel like reality. Bokuto’s practically cornered him against the arm of the couch, making him squirm away to catch his breath. He can feel the heat high on his cheeks but he’s comforted by the way it’s mirrored on Bokuto’s face. Bokuto tucks his face in the junction between Akaashi’s neck and shoulder, making him laugh. He speaks after a beat of silence, voice muffled.

“I’m really happy right now, 'Kashi.”

Akaashi buries his nose into Bokuto’s hair, warm from head to toe, and responds, “Me too.”

Bokuto hugs him tighter. “I could get used to it,”

Akaashi thinks of just 24 hours prior, him heading to work fully expecting the day to take a different turn. Telling Miya Osamu and Konoha about Bokuto’s travel plans, following Bokuto to his apartment to spend as much time as possible with him before his inevitable departure. He thinks of the way he’d automatically assumed Bokuto would follow an expected career plan. How presumptuous of him to think, once again, that he could control him. It makes his hands tighten around Bokuto’s shoulders.

“Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> i finished reading the haikyuu!! manga last week and couldn't help myself from writing this after seeing bokuaka in the timeskip. i just think they're soulmates <3 also can you tell i love bokuto koutarou (23, tax evader) very much
> 
> also this is only vaguely proofread so please forgive any mistakes 
> 
> thank you for reading!


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